Secrets in the Sun
by Dragon's Daughter 1980
Summary: Sometimes, women have their secrets, and they don't plan on telling anyone soon.... especially when those secrets are deadly.
1. Chapter 1

Secrets in the Sun

Author: Dragon's Daughter 1980

Spoilers: Season 1, Judgment Call

Pairing: Don/Terry

Disclaimer: CBS has ownership over Numb3rs. That being said, I'm just borrowing the cast for my own enjoyment and I promise to return all characters unharmed.

Author's Note: First of all, this is a completely separate universe from the events in 'Changes and Choices.' Don and Terry are not in a relationship of any sort. Second of all, for the foreseeable future, this story will have a basis in the events of Season 2. But that is not a promise. Things may change without notice; I could go off on my own tangent or the newest episode next Friday could throw my plotline for a loop. Third of all, I am not an expert in law enforcement procedures, so if things become a little unrealistic, please drop me a note and forgive me.

* * *

The phone rang shrilly in her one-bedroom apartment, shattering the peaceful atmosphere of quiet Mozart. With a soft sigh, FBI Special Agent Megan Reeves picked up the handheld phone with one hand as she closed her latest personal case notes and sat back on her living room couch. _This better not be another case,_ she groused to herself. _You'd think that __L.A.__, one of _the_ vacation spots in the world, would know the definition of 'off-duty.'_

"Hello?"

"Hi, Megan," said a familiar voice. Megan smiled, drawing her legs up onto the couch.

"Terry," she replied warmly in greeting, "how're you doing?"

The other FBI agent laughed quietly, the laugh that was particular to law enforcement, edged with cynicism and hope, "As good as can be. How are you finding it?"

"You were right," Megan replied, "They're a good team. Is your line…?"

"Yes," her friend answered immediately. "Yours?"

"Yes," Megan glanced at the blinking red light on the phone cradle's side. While her 'neighbor' made sure to monitor her activities twenty-four/seven, he also understood her need for privacy and Megan knew her conversations remained confidential. Now, knowing that the call was secure, she said, "Charlie is a great teacher… even when I can't really understand what he's talking about."

"He does that sometimes." Terry sounded amused, "If you need help reining him in, ask Don, Amita or Larry for help."

"Who's Larry?"

"Fleinhardt, Professor of Physics at CalSci," answered Terry. "Absent-minded at times, but he's like a mentor figure to Charlie and Amita."

"Amita," the younger agent called up the image of the young woman, "what can you tell me about her?"

"Such as?" asked Terry.

"Is there anything going on?"

"Yes," replied the seasoned agent, reading her friend's mind, "The two of them _are_ seriously flirting with each other. I'm fairly sure that they'll be dating soon. She's got the patience of a saint when she needs it. Charlie's adorable, but sometimes he can be very trying."

"That doesn't seem like him."

"That's only because you haven't worked with him long enough yet. It took me months to get even a basic grasp of him. He's a genius, but he's also human."

"What do you mean?"

"There're … some unresolved issues for him," said Terry hesitantly. "With Don being an agent and some personal things… he might turn to you for advice once you've earned his trust, but you have make sure you don't betray it or push him too much. He's hard to read and sometimes, unpredictable. It took me a long time to know when he wants you to back off."

"He seemed fairly normal to me."

"Yeah, that he is," agreed Terry, "but he's still a civilian consultant and a genius at that, plus, he's still Don's little brother, even when they won't admit it. Anytime he has to send Don out into the field on his information… he has panicked when things have gone wrong. If he does, be firm and gentle with him until he's sure that Don's okay, then offer him an open door and leave it at that. He has to come find you for help; otherwise, he won't accept it."

"All right, thanks." Megan sighed heavily.

"Everything all right?" asked Terry in concern. Even though Terry couldn't possibly see her, Megan looked down as she tried to impart her news, her voice gentle as if she could soften the blow, "I've heard… Do you know what Merrick told him, about your transfer?"

"Yeah," Terry whispered sadly after a beat, "I know. Told him myself."

"He — he's started dating again. Nadine Hodges." There was pained silence on the other end of the phone line. "I'm sorry Terry, I know that—"

"It's okay Megan," Terry's voice sounded slightly strained. "You can't do anything about it. You can't tell them about me. Not without getting into trouble."

"Still, I wish—"

"Megan," said the senior agent, "if every agent could make their wish come true, then we wouldn't have crime. It's not safe to tell them, not for me, and especially not for you. It's all right." Both of them knew Terry was lying to cover up her heartbreak. Megan let silence descend; both women needed it, one to collect herself, the other to organize her thoughts.

"We wrapped up a case today," she said abruptly, "cop's widow put a hit out on a judge's wife. It got me thinking… why didn't I see that? I mean, one of our own…"

"You know that profiling's one of the toughest fields there is," said Terry wisely, "You made a valid assumption based on rational reasoning — it's what we've been taught — but we both know that humans are rarely rational."

"Yeah," Megan said softly, knowing all too well that truth in that statement and the dangers of immersing herself in the criminal mind. She had gotten too close. _I should've turned the case over. Why didn't I turn the damn case over to Fred? I _knew_ I was too close; I knew something was up and I kept my mouth shut. Stupid, stupid…_

"Your reports are extensive," complimented Terry after a pause. "It's been a big help."

"Thanks. How much longer do you have?"

"Enough," replied Terry unperturbedly before her voice softened into a plea, "I… look out for them, please? Make sure Don's careful? He doesn't think about himself sometimes. I know he takes precautions, but tell him that there's someone who needs help — and he doesn't always think. And David and Charlie and the others; can you look out for them while I'm gone?"

"Yeah, will do," Megan nodded before making a request of her own, "Can you make sure Brian's okay too?"

"I will. I've spoken to him already. He said to tell you that he misses you a lot." Terry paused before saying softly, "Thanks."

"Thank you," replied Megan, stressing the need for Terry to know that she didn't need to ask Megan to look out for the Los Angeles team. "When can you call again?"

"I don't know."

"Be careful Terry," she pleaded, "Those guys are tough."

"I know. I'll talk to you later. Bye."

"Bye," said Megan just before Terry hung up. She replaced the phone back in the cradle before slumping back against the couch and looking up at the ceiling, searching for an answer. _How in the world did we get caught up in this mess? How could I have screwed up so badly to have to start over? Fool, fool, what a fool…what an idiot…_


	2. Chapter 2

Secrets in the Sun

Author: Dragon's Daughter 1980

Spoilers: Seasons 1 and 2

Pairing: Don/Terry

Disclaimer: CBS has ownership over Numb3rs. That being said, I'm just borrowing the cast for my own enjoyment and I promise to return all characters unharmed.

Author's Note: This story will move fluidly between the past and present, so I would strongly recommend keeping a close eye on the dates. While watching a few of the new episodes this weekend, I have also realized that chances are that this story will run parallel to the events of Season 2. That also means that while I do have a vague plotline, it is very liable to change on me without notice and cause massive re-writes. If that happens, I assure I will get the story straightened out. It just might take me a while. Thank you all for your patience and understanding.

_

* * *

Six months earlier… _

_March 21, 2005_

Miami, Florida

"Goodnight, Brian," she said, patting her partner's shoulder as she passed by his desk on her way out of the office. It was nine o'clock, long past time for the two agents to return to their homes. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"You take care of yourself, cousin," the brown-haired man replied with a smile, looking up from her latest profile. She laughed and waved as she pushed open the security door. While she waited for the elevator, she looked at the darkened Miami skyline that still blazed with the lights of celebration and desperation.

The highly-polished elevator doors reflected a tall Caucasian woman, who held herself with confidence and pride. Even when she was relaxed, like now, professionalism and grace was in her very being. Although one would presume that the sight of firearm and badge would take away from her beauty, she had made the tools of her trade a natural part of her. She was a woman in a tough field; and she, like all of her female colleagues, had long ago found the balance between what Bureau tradition dictated and their individuality as women.

Dressed in dark slacks and a white short-sleeved blouse, it would have been easy to mistake her for an ordinary businesswoman. Her make-up was minimal. One never knew what would happen on the job and there was simply no time to reapply or wipe away smeared make-up. Her small plain purse was slung over her left shoulder; she had been taught to always keep her right hand free. Her hair was long, but pulled up into a ponytail that kept stray strands of honey-colored hair out of her face during the day. Soft gray eyes drank in the signs of the city's vibrant nightlife, even as shadows danced at their edges, born from wonderings of what horrors were taking place at that very moment. That was not to say that that gentleness of character reflected in her eyes was a sign of weakness. Far from being meek, those gray eyes hardened into cold steel when she was angered and more than one criminal had flinched from being the sole focus of her attention.

The elevator bell dinged quietly and the doors smoothly slid open. The woman stepped inside and pushed the button for the parking level. As the doors slid shut behind her and the elevator began its descent from the higher levels of the office, she looked forward to a quiet, relaxing bath, followed by a brief walk by the seashore when she got home.

But FBI Special Agent Megan Elliot had forgotten one very important lesson she had been taught:

A person's world can be destroyed in a heartbeat.

* * *

Gunshots. 

_Breathe._

Limp.

_Stay quiet! For Heaven's sake, stay still!_

Disbelief.

_Oh God. It can't be._

Silence. One heartbeat. Fluttering. Unsteady. Scared.

_It's safe now._

"Alexis?"

_No response. She didn't hear me._

Blood.

_Call 911. Constant pressure on the bleeding._

A tentative step forward — a rush, collapse…a whispered prayer, "Alexis?" Tentative touch.

_No. No._

Cold hands. Icy enough to wake the dead.

If only.

_Please. Please._

Fingers. Trembling. Shaking. Frantic. Heartbeat.

_Nothing._

Denial.

_She's warm. Call it in. They'll be here in time. She's still warm. _

Reality. Experience. Too many scenes. Too much knowledge. Not enough innocence. Muffled sobs.

_She's gone. You can't bring her back._

In the shadows of the weeping willows, the honey-haired woman gently touched the other woman's pale cheek. With reverence, she brushed a few strands of golden hair away from the tranquil face, still willing for air to rush past her fingers. She straightened the rumpled blouse, smoothed down the skirt, ignoring the cooling wetness that clung to the fabric and her fingers. Gathering, glittering pearls, threatened.

_Close your eyes. Don't contaminate the scene. You can't be traced back here. You can't afford to be connected to this. Leave no evidence._

A warm sea breeze, a ghost's whisper: _"Promise me…promise me you will do what needs to be done. Bring me justice."_

Stiff fingers gently close brown sightless eyes. A vow, quiet, but firm.

"I will."

_"Leave me."_

"No." A friend's adamant refusal. Rejected by none, save Death.

_"Leave."_ Callous command. Soft prayer. _"Remember me."_

Nausea. Terror. Anger. Betrayal.

_No, no, no, this can't be happening… oh God…_ She turned away, stumbling blindly, into the darkness. The night swallowed her light brown hair, swinging behind her fleeing person, her hands stained crimson, scarlet with innocent blood.

_

* * *

One week later… _

_March 28, 2005_

Los Angeles, California

"Good morning, Wright," said FBI Special Agent Terry Lake as she entered the outer office of the Assistant Director. "How are you doing?" The recovering agent seated in the desk positioned off to the side of the doorway, smiled wanly in reply, "Pretty good," which meant that he was bored out of his mind. The man, injured in a car crash while in pursuit of a fleeing suspect a few weeks previous, was temporarily filling in the position of Merrick's secretary while the woman was on vacation with her family.

"Go right in, Lake," said the deskbound agent. "He's waiting for you." She nodded in reply and opened the door.

Merrick sat at his desk, watching her entrance with a solemn expression. "Shut the door behind you," he said, gesturing for her to take one of the seats in front of his desk. Terry complied, slightly worried about why she had been called into a private conference with Don's superior. As far as she knew, there was no reason for her to have attracted his attention. She hadn't lost her temper or broken any regulations during any of her recent cases. The Assistant Director studied her for a long moment. She supposed it would have been unnerving if she hadn't trained herself to be patient and calm on the outside, successfully suppressing any nervous movements. _He can't possibly know about Don,_ she told herself.

"Do you know why you're here?" he asked abruptly. _A million reasons_, she replied silently, _all of which involve me leaving here in disgrace because I'm fairly sure that I'm in love with my direct supervisor. Not that anyone else knows that. I hope._ But she shook her head in denial. It must have been the right answer because Merrick nodded and sat forward in his chair with a weary sigh, pushing a case folder towards her. Sensing the unspoken order, she picked it up from his desk and opened it. It was a surprisingly thin file, but the contents within, a few pages of a half-finished report, a handwritten statement, and several photographs, shocked Terry beyond words. When she was done reading, she took in a shaky breath and released it as she closed the file. _My God…_

"The Director asked me to send the best profiler I had," said Merrick grimly. "You can see why he wanted me to do so. I chose you. Are you willing?"

"What happens if I say yes?"

"You'll be flown to Washington D.C. in a week for a full briefing before you start on the case. Transfer papers will be put into your file, assigning you to Headquarters for the duration of the case. I'll make your excuses for you. Details will be sorted out as they come."

"What about the agents who wrote this?" Terry glanced down at the closed folder. Two different people had written the statement and report; basic profiling told her that much. It also told her that while one of them was only concerned, the other was completely terrified. "Will I meet them?"

"No," said Merrick, his voice sharp and angry for no particular reason that Terry could discern. He looked at Terry apologetically, and his tone softened, "No, you won't. Ms. Andres was a DEA agent." He paused as if to debate whether or not to tell her more, but Terry already knew. His use of the past tense had told her all she needed to know about the other woman's fate.

"She was murdered before she could complete her findings," Merrick finally said and sighed. "Her death has been officially ruled as a mugging gone wrong." He looked at her sharply, "Don't let that happen to you. Unofficially, we have only our suspicions, and the eyewitness." Merrick nodded toward the folder she held. "As for her…" he sighed, "that depends on your answer, and on circumstances. Are you willing?"

"I can't leave the office without a good explanation…."

"I'll come up with one," he reassured her, "One that will pass gossip." She restrained her surprise and chided herself, _Of course, __Merrick__ worked his way up the ranks. And while Bureau regulations might change over the years, the culture certainly doesn't. He'd know all about gossip._

"Will I be able to stay in contact with them?" A heartbeat passed before she realized that the Assistant Director couldn't possibly know who she was referring to, but he apparently did.

"Most likely, for your own safety and theirs, no," he answered. "We don't want any threads, or at least, any obvious ones, tying you to L.A. You will not be working under your real name. If anything goes wrong and we need to pull you out, you'll need to be able to return to your normal life here without fear of retribution." He looked at her seriously. "I want you to think seriously about your answer because once you get involved in this case, you stay involved until it's completely over."

"I am," she replied. "About the NSA… why are they involved in this?" _Because I know I do not want to run into Charlie accidentally. He would greet me unguardedly without a second thought. It could get the both of us killed and God knows I never want that to happen. Not to Charlie. Not to Don._

"That, Agent Lake, is something I cannot tell you. It's safer if you don't know."

"Safer?" she echoed, giving her superior a questioning look. His lips tightened—in anger or annoyance, Terry couldn't tell, but she counted on the latter — before he replied stiffly, "We don't think that they are the only ones involved in this. In fact, we're almost certain of it. The two of them have, to our knowledge, no relationship to or contact with each other beyond the occasional case. With the task force of three different agencies, not counting local law enforcement, and the leakage of information to the — The Bureau will be conducting the investigation, under NSA direction." He gave her a stern look that warned her not to push, "And that's all that I'm going to tell you."

"Why me?" she asked quietly. "Why not Agent Eppes or someone else?" He looked out the window, his expression becoming cold. Then just as abruptly, that façade crumbled.

"Because," Merrick sighed, suddenly looking as old as he was, "because we want to know why. And when we do arrest them, we'll need someone who has repeatedly outmaneuvered criminals in interrogations."

"The Behavioral Analysis Unit has the best profilers there are in the Bureau," Terry pointed out.

"Yes, but they're well-known." He looked back at her. "You, on the other hand, with the right paperwork and information, wouldn't be suspected of being a profiler. And, pardon me, but one of your strongest points is being perceived as less of a physical threat than say, Agent Sinclair or Agent Eppes." At her semi-indigent look that she didn't quite conceal, Meeker nodded, "I know that you're quite capable in hand-to-hand, but please, keep that particular skill to yourself." He sighed, "You won't be the only one working incognito on this case, but for your own safety and the others', you won't know who they are." He was unconsciously pleading with her to take the case, Terry noted.

"Is this an order?"

"To take the case? No, not this time." He shuffled a few pieces of paper, not looking at her. "This is a strictly voluntary assignment because of its delicate nature." _He's really good at dancing around the subject._ "Will you take this case?" he pressed.

"When do you want an answer?"

"Now."

"A few minutes?" she offered, knowing that he would accept. If even offering her the prospect of taking the case was making Merrick uneasy, a reckless decision would never sit well with him.

"All right," he stood up, picking up a file from his otherwise clear desk. "I have a conference call in five minutes. It should take me ten minutes at most. I'd like your answer when I get back. You are not to leave this office or contact anyone until you give me your decision. Understand?" She nodded silently. "Good." Merrick paused, his hand on the doorknob. He opened his lips slightly as if to speak and changed his mind. Instead, he gave her an apologetic look, as if knowing the situation he had put her in, and left her to her thoughts.

The room rang with his silent question: "Will you take this case?"

_I don't know,_ she told herself honestly. Terry searched within herself to find an answer that she could live with. _Can I leave everything I know for weeks, maybe months, or, Heaven forbid, years? Can I walk away from this, knowing that if I do, someone else is going to have to do this, someone with a family who needs them? Can I become someone else, just like that? It will be a charade, not for minutes, not for a stakeout, but for hours and days. And it won't be an arrest at stake, but my life…and the honor of the Bureau._

_It's going to be dangerous and more likely than not, I won't be able to trust anyone, not even my colleagues. But by the same token, can I let this go, pretend that I never saw this, go home knowing about a murderer and doing nothing about it? No. I can't. I swore to uphold the law, and this goes against every law that I know and believe in. I can't walk away. I might come back, and some might call me a traitor, but others will understand. Someone has to take care of this. And, for some reason, they came to me._

_If I say yes…can I stand to say goodbye to Don? Push whatever away we have, or at least, putting it on hold? Let him think that I'm not interested in him, never was? Just turn my back on him to do this? He would understand, if he knew. But an investigation like this… he might never know…And I might never get to tell him. And if I come back, will the both of us be so different we don't know each other? What about Charlie? I don't see how he could get dragged into a mess like this, and I pray that he never will be, but, like he says, everything is numbers. What will I do if we run into each other somewhere? How can I tell him, without blowing my cover, that I am not myself, that I am trying to protect him from people who won't hesitate to kill?_ She shook her head, correcting herself. _I can't prepare for everything that might happen. Charlie might end up in the case. He might not. If he does, I'll have to trust that he's smart enough to keep his mouth shut. And David…I've taught him enough. He'll have to learn to trust his instincts, training and experience; Don will take care of him. I won't have to worry. I will though. At least David's more cautious than careless._

She tilted her head back, caught off guard by the moisture in her eyes. _I'll miss them. I'll miss Don, Charlie, David, Larry, Amita, Mr. Eppes, all of them. But I have to do this._ Terry looked down at the fragile folder in her lap. _Why? Because there's a terrified young woman out there who found her friend's body. Because she had the guts to stand up and identify the man who won't hesitate to kill her, and now she's counting on me to make her world safer. Because it's my duty. And duty sometimes means sacrifice. I promised._ She looked out the window at the beautiful morning sunshine warming the bustling city she called home. She would miss Los Angeles. As she carefully began packing away her favorite memories of her city, Terry prayed silently, _Dear God: Guide me safely through whatever lies ahead. Let me take this case, finish it, and come back home alive. Give me the strength to see this through._

When Merrick returned from his meeting, their eyes met in silent question. Somehow, Terry found her voice to say, "Yes."


	3. Chapter 3

Secrets in the Sun

Author: Dragon's Daughter 1980

Spoilers: Seasons 1 and 2

Disclaimer: Other than being a devoted fan, I have nothing to do with Numb3rs. That being said, I'm just borrowing the cast for my own enjoyment and I promise to return all characters unharmed.

Author's Note: I apologize for the year-long hiatus this story has suffered and I thank all of you who are out there, silently cheering me on. This story is now official AU. I'll work on this from time to time, as much and as fast as I can. However, I am entering into a chaotic phase of my life, so I cannot promise anything. I hope that with the release of the S2 DVDs (and whatever spare time I have on my hands), I will be able to complete this… someday.

_

* * *

Present Day_

_September 24, 2005_

Miami, Florida

Terry groaned as an electric warble broke through her dream. _Damn case_, she thought, rolling over in bed. She didn't turn the bedside lamp on, preferring to open her eyes in the darkness and use her night vision. It had been a good dream too, involving her, Don, their favorite hangout at the Academy and a make-out session that was well on its way to getting a little out of control, not that she minded where his hands were going. Terry shook her head, quickly throwing her private musings into the back of her mind. She answered the ringing phone, her false name slipping out of her with practiced ease, "Quinn."

"Call for you," said Sophia Fujimoto quietly, "from Los Angeles; Amita Ramanujan?" She quickly checked her phone to see if the red light was on. It was.

"Line's secure. Thank you." There was only a quiet click in reply.

"Lake," she said, businesslike as if she had just picked up the phone. She was used to waking up on a moment's notice and late night-early morning phone calls were a given in her life for the foreseeable future.

"Hi, Terry, it's Amita."

"Amita," she warmed her tone, "how are you?"

"Oh my! I completely forgot. I'm so sorry to be calling so late —"

"It's fine," Terry said dismissively, sparing a quick glance at the clock. She did some rapid mental math in her head. _Huh, that seems a little early for a date. Not that I was expecting anything to happen…_ "How are you doing?"

"Okay…"

"You don't sound okay."

"It… didn't go so well."

"What do you mean?"

"We couldn't talk to each other! I mean, I don't know what happened, but I just blanked and…" Terry heard a frustrated sigh on the other end of the phone line.

"How about you start at the beginning?"

"Everything was started fine. He picked me up, and we talked about random things. He pulled out the chair for me when we got to the restaurant and it was nice. Then we started getting sidetracked."

"Sidetracked?"

"We kept talking about math, and he promised me that he wouldn't. But we kept forgetting and… if we had just forgotten about that stupid agreement, we would have been fine…."

"Did you tell him that?"

"No… have you ever seen his frustrated look?"

"Yes," replied Terry, "though those were always during cases."

"He just looked so disappointed in himself and when I tried to nudge him along with conversation… he just gave up and I—oh!" Terry heard something being thrown. _It probably wouldn't be a good idea to point out that she could have told him to drop the agreement right now…_

"Amita?"

"Yeah?"

"It's okay," she assured the younger woman. "First dates don't always go well. And, you know, maybe you should try again and start out small."

"I guess." Terry sensed a 'but…' in Amita's voice. She got her explanation a moment later.

"It's just that I've started with Dr. Kepler and it's turning out to be a lot of work. I mean, I enjoy astrophysics, but I'll be busy with studying and research and…do I really want to be juggling a relationship with _anybody_? I… I just don't know."

"You're right," Terry agreed. "It's a lot. Sleep on it. You know, all of us just want you both to be happy. Now, we happen to think that you two are perfect for each other, but that's not our decision to make. It's yours."

"I know…" the younger woman sounded miserably. Terry winced in sympathy.

"Take it slow, Amita," she said after a moment. "Don't rush into things. You already know each other well, but just…just talk about anything and everything, even if it does involve math. After all, as Charlie says, everything is numbers."

Amita laughed quietly. "You sound like you have experience."

"Yeah," Terry couldn't help but smile at the memories, "the first few times I went out with Don, it was a little awkward. But eventually, we got past work and started—" _falling in love_, she said mentally, but verbally hesitated. "—startled getting to know each other."

"But I already know him," she said softly in protest.

"Do you?" probed Terry.

"Maybe, I think, I don't know!" After a moment, Amita confessed, "No. Probably not."

"I've known Don for years, and he still manages to surprise me once in a while. I personally think Eppes men tend to play their pasts, emotions, and thoughts very close to their chests."

"Do you think there's an instruction manual for figuring out how to date them?"

"No," Terry laughed gently, "and even if there was, I think it would be a one-liner: Be yourself. Be straight with them and let them decide. But from the looks Charlie's been giving you since, what, last year, I think he's interested."

"So am I, but if two people are so interested in each other, then how come our first date went so badly?"

"I don't know," replied Terry, "But you know, I think both of you right now are still trying to find your footing outside of academia. If he asks, go out with him again, and just let loose, see what happens."

"Thanks, Terry. And I'm sorry for having woken you up."

"It's not a problem; after all, I'm the one who made you promise to call me afterwards."

"Okay. Good-night, and thanks again."

"Good night, Amita." Terry heard the younger woman hang up before she hung up herself.

She lay back down with a sigh. She missed L.A. and the people she loved. The sunshine here was the same, but also different. There was little of the relaxed, vacation-like atmosphere in Florida that she had felt in California when she was off duty. Then again, she wasn't on the hunt for a rouge agent back home. She had a right to be a little tense.

Her colleagues at the office and on the task force were nice, but a little restrained. They still didn't know precisely how to act around her: to welcome her or to resent her. Officially, Terri Quinn was a new transfer to help with the translation needs of the task force. She was introduced as an agent with an ex-state patrol background who was familiar with multi-cultural situations. There was no mention of her being a forensic scientist or an expert in hand-to-hand combat in her file.

Unofficially, office gossip flew that she was the replacement for Megan Elliot, a popular agent who had died in a hit-and-run. The driver who killed her hadn't yet been apprehended and the case had gone cold, but what made Elliot's death most difficult to bear was the fact that the task force had lost another agent a few days before. Any department would be devastated by the random murders of two agents in the span of less than a week, and the task force was no exception. Even six months later, a few of them were still processing the grief.

One of those people was Terry's partner, Brian Eames. He took the losses especially hard, particularly since his previous partner, and distant relative, was Elliot. It didn't help Terry's relationship with him that she was his replacement partner. He spoke to her when he needed to, and while he wasn't cold, he wasn't friendly either. The conversations between them were always rather strained and terse. But when no one was looking, there were moments when she caught a glimpse of his sly smile, or a flash of his good humor. She understood the pretense they both had to keep up, and he knew that she knew about the whole mess. They couldn't talk or socialize in any way that might tip off someone to the real situation. It could get Terry killed if anyone suspected she wasn't who she said she was. It would put Megan's life at risk if anyone suspected that she wasn't dead. Eames wouldn't be expected to be friendly at all to Terri, not in his grief.

But to the office, the two of them were slowly establishing a working relationship that was semi-viable. One of the turning points had been a heated confrontation between Eames and her that took place in the break-room one morning. He had accused, she had denied; he had verbally shoved, she had verbally pushed right back. After a few of the leading members of the task force had managed to drag Eames out of the room, breaking up the argument, she knew something had changed in the image of their partnership. SAC DuBlanc had sent both of them home that day to "cool it." The next day, Eames still treated her with the same politeness as he had the weeks before their argument, but he was respectful now as opposed to merely formal.

Yesterday had been the first day that the two of them had been allowed to do fieldwork together. The SAC had wanted Terry to adjust to the Floridian climate and attitudes, and knowing that her partner was in no condition to do so, let some of the other members of the task force show her around the area. DuBlanc also knew that Eames needed time to put himself back together and some space to do it in. Even though Eames knew that his distant cousin and partner wasn't dead, it was still difficult to deal with her sudden departure and the knowledge that someone on the task force was dirty and out for blood. He needed time to come to terms with it all.

The unofficial separation of the two partners circumvented most of the tension, resentment and anger that would have developed if they had been left to their own devices. It had been a rocky four months, but Terry found herself beginning to settle into her role as Terri Quinn, which made her life, if only slightly, easier.

She rolled over onto her stomach, hugging her pillow and sighed. It was late, or early depending on how a person divided up the nighttime hours, and she had work soon. She needed her rest. With an effort of will, she began taking deep, slow breaths and relaxing her body. She was asleep within a few minutes.


	4. Chapter 4

Secrets in the Sun

Author: Dragon's Daughter 1980

Spoilers: Seasons 1 and 2

Disclaimer: Other than being a devoted fan, I have nothing to do with Numb3rs. That being said, I'm just borrowing the cast for my own enjoyment and I promise to return all characters unharmed.

Author's Note: Season Three most certainly started off with a huge bang; I don't think I've fangirled so much in two hours before this season. Add to that the fact that Season Two DVDS come out in less than a week! Yes, indeed, I am a happy author. Thank you for all your reviews and kind words. I'll try to post again next week, but no promises. (The next two chapters are threatening not to cooperate with me.) Enough of me; now back to Megan...

_

* * *

Present Day _

_October 15, 2005_

Los Angeles, California

"I'd better get into the office," said Megan, rising from her seat at the kitchen table. Her neighbor, Ian Pratchett, gave her a fond smile as he took the coffee mug from her hands and set it in the sink.

"Then you'd better get moving if you want to make it before nine," he said before adding, "And you really need to start varying your schedule. You can't always leave your apartment at seven-thirty when you haven't been called out."

"How many days out of the week have I _not_ been called out?" she teased back.

"Only about twice a month," he replied, mildly glaring at her over the rim of his coffee cup. "I'm serious Megan, you need to stop being so consistent."

"When can I stop being so inconsistent?"

"Soon," he replied, "until then…"

"Don't worry," she smiled at him, "I will. Do you need anything from the store?"

"Already put the list in your purse," he replied, taking a sip of his black coffee. As if on cue, a cell phone began to ring. She looked at Ian who shook his head with a smile, "Not mine. I've got a new ringtone." Megan gave him a questioning look as she unclipped her phone from her belt. She could have sworn Ian muttered, "Harry Potter" with a grin into his coffee and was about to ask him about it when she saw that it was David calling.

"Reeves," she said into the mouthpiece, the name slipping from her lips almost naturally now.

"Hi Megan, it's David," said the other agent. "There's been a murder. We've got the victim's son here and he's refusing to move. The address is 14532 Santa Martinez."

"Okay, I'll be right there," she hung up with a sigh.

"Bad case?" he asked quietly, putting his mug on the kitchen table.

"When are they not?" she asked in reply, picking up her purse and coat. He followed her to his door and opened it for her.

"You be careful," he admonished. She gave him an absentminded nod as she left his apartment, her mind already focused on the case at hand.

* * *

"Why is that?" Colby demanded at something Don said as he turned to dig a bullet out of a pillar. " 'Cause he missed? Pros miss you know." 

"Yeah," she muttered grimly as she walked past, "only this one didn't." Megan reined in her emotions as she approached the child. Daniel Shay would be delicate and sensitive to the people around him for a while. Anger from anyone would only cause him to close up even more.

"I found some apple juice," she said quietly, putting the cup in front of the boy. After a moment, his trembling fingers wrapped themselves around the ceramic mug and pulled it closer to him. But he didn't drink; he stared sightlessly at the shining finish of the dining room table instead. _Did his mother eat her breakfast this morning in here, with him?_ Megan wondered as she silently took a seat at the table. _Or did they sit in the kitchen, talking about school or his next baseball game?_

"It's okay," she said softly, leaning in slightly, taking care not to touch him. The first time she had, he had flinched away from her.

When she had arrived on scene, David had quickly brought her up to speed on what they knew as he led her into the front hall. There she had found Daniel standing by Lucida Shay's body and steadfastly refusing to move, leaving the crime techs more than a little confounded about what to do. The female agent knew all too well a portion of the hell he was going through, standing there, helplessly paralyzed, staring down at the body of the one person he loved the most in the world.

Megan knew it was for the better when she got between him and Ms. Shay. He had struggled slightly when she had blocked his view, but fell back into his shocked stupor soon after. It had taken a lot of gentle coaxing before she could get the child into the dining room, out of sight of the body, where he had sat soundlessly for the past hour.

She turned slightly towards the soft, approaching footsteps that stopped just before entering the dinning room. Daniel showed no reaction to the new presence.

"Megan, we're going," said Don quietly. His eyes, she noticed, lingered sadly on the child and he swallowed hard. _They lost their mother about a year and half ago_ the memory of Terry's voice reminded Megan. _Don's only cried a few times about it; he's always been the rock for his family, but the man sometimes refuses to take care of himself!_

"Okay," she called back softly before she looked at Daniel, still wearing the same blank look of mingled shock and grief. She stood up and he raised his head slightly. _That's good. He's starting to track his surroundings._ Megan moved to stand a little ways away from him. _I can't force him to come with us._

"Daniel," she spoke to him normally, as if she knew he had a response buried inside of him and she did, "you need to come with us, back to our offices." She held out her hand to him and waited. It took a very long minute before he stood from his seat and walked past her, disregarding the help. Instead, her hand settled on his upper back in a protective gesture.

As they walked into the hall, Megan automatically shifted her body so that it would be impossible for Daniel to see the bloodstain on the carpet as they walked past the crime scene. Her hand shifting to his shoulder, she guided him down the front steps of the residence and paused, allowing him one last look at the place he had called home with his mother. His lips trembled, but no tears fell. Unconsciously, Megan's hand on his shoulder tightened, trying to remind him that there were people there who would support him through the grieving process ahead.

Daniel looked back down on the ground and she guided him towards her car. He wordlessly got into her backseat and buckled up for a long ride into his uncertain future.

* * *

While playing yet another game of solitaire in the eerily silent conference room, she heard a familiar rhythm knocked on the doorframe behind her. She had discovered early on that it was a polite habit of Don's, to alert his colleagues to his presence and avoid catching them off guard. Sure enough, when she glanced over her shoulder, Don was standing in the open doorway. 

"I'll be right back, okay?" she said quietly, touching the boy's arm as she rose from her seat. Daniel didn't say anything or look up, but at least he hadn't flinched away from her touch. With one more worried glance, she walked out of the room.

"How he's doing?" asked Don, in a low voice.

"There is some blunt affect in response to the trauma," she responded quietly.

"What's that?" he gave her a look, silently asking her to explain in laymen's terms. "Like some kind of post-traumatic shock kind of thing?"

"A little," she nodded. "This is more immediate and hopefully it's temporary. But he's like an overloaded circuit. He's just shut down right now."

"You know," she heard his reluctance, "I'm going to need him to talk to us."

"I know that," she replied patiently. "But he's too fragile right now.

I mean…" Don nudged. "If he knows who shot his mother…."

"It's exactly the problem," she told him, her maternal instincts rising and overtaking her training. "He probably did and he's a little boy and he's terrified and if we push him too far now, we may never get what we need."

"All right, all right," he sighed, his tone telling her he got her point, loud and clear. He looked solemnly at the child again, his brown eyes filled with sympathy. She let him walk past her without a word and watched him as he entered the room.

"Hi Daniel," he said softly as he sat down at the table. "I'm Don Eppes, remember, from before?"

_He'll be careful._ She walked away. Don might be a professional, detached FBI agent like all of them, but she had quickly seen for herself that when it came to victims, he was a caring, approachable man. _Now, let's see if I can't hurry up the search for his relatives. He can't possibly be alone in the world now. He just…he just can't be._

* * *

A few hours later found Megan sitting in the empty conference room, struggling to find her professional emotional detachment. In an attempt to channel her frustration into something productive, she was currently trying to build a profile on the seven defendants in the Syntel case. But her eyes kept straying away from her computer screen. 

'_Stop it Megan_,' she told herself uselessly, '_just stop it. Concentrate and breathe through it, damn it._' But she still looked away from her laptop and watched Daniel sitting outside on her desk, his face a portrait of shock and denial as he waited for his mother, someone, _anyone_, to take him away from this nightmare he was in. No one would come. And there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it. If there was something that she hated, it was being helpless.

It was cases like this that caused her mind to wander back to Florida, to all her friends and colleagues, wondering if they had moved on; to Brian, her partner and distant cousin, how he was treating his new partner; to her three sisters, especially Caroline, if she was all right, at least surviving her 'death'; to her nephew Luke, just shy of five years old. It was when tears clouded her vision, tears she wouldn't — couldn't — let fall. _Focus, just focus._ She blinked back her tears and firmly shoved her private thoughts back where they belonged: in a deep recess of her mind that had nothing to do with work. Megan mentally forced herself to concentrate on her computer screen and the biography of Syntel's CEO.

_

* * *

I'm not getting anywhere with this. Maybe his daughter is the weak point; she was sympathetic to the employees. And the chances of me talking to her without a lawyer present? Zilch. The squeak of the door hinge pulled her out of her frustrated brooding and she looked up from her laptop. _

"Hey Charlie," she greeted mildly, her voice betraying none of her annoyance with bureaucracy. _It's not his fault that I can't concentrate._

"Hey. Seen Don?"

"He went to meet the prosecutor in the Syntel case and I'm working some angles to get us close to the executives that are about to go on trial." _Not that I'm actually getting anywhere for a variety of reasons, but it's worth a try._

"Oh good," he seemed relieved, "Because my analysis is taking longer than I anticipated."

"Why's that?" she asked, wondering if he was missing information or it was just simply a matter of time. The soft click of metal on metal behind her told Megan that someone else had entered the room. Judging by the fact that Charlie's focus had shifted slightly off of her, even though he was still looking at her, she assumed it was Don.

"I realized that the only way to assess motive for any of these suspects is to reconstruct the original fraud." _That **would** take time…say, a few months?_

"Oh yeah," Don leaned against the countertop, "how long will that take?"

"Um, I need to correlate functions from several million transactions in Syntel's trading business. But, you know, if I use the super computer at school, it should only take a few hours." _Only a few hours?_ _I don't know how he can sound so unfazed by the sheer complexities of that._

"Yeah, a few hours? That sounds good."

"I'll give them the old "I'm trying to stop a killer line." Charlie pushed open the door to leave, "Maybe they'll push me up."

"There you go," said Don good-naturedly.

"Thanks Charlie," she called out and received a wave in reply. Don sighed heavily as he looked out the conference room window, "So how's our kid doing?" She looked at Daniel, listening to one of the secretaries, his eyes lowered to the ground. Feeling tears threatening her again, she tore her eyes away from the boy and focused back on her computer screen, "Uh, I guess he's a little better. But, you know, how would any one of us be doing in his situation?" _I know I was a complete mess for a few days._

"Yeah," he agreed quietly, "Any word from Family Services?"

"There is no father in the picture," she replied, looking at him, and shifting a few folders to find the file. "And we found a grandmother in, uh, Bethany, Oklahoma. She has a heart condition and she can't fly." _And WITSEC won't arrange for someone to take him there!_ A part of her knew it was irrational thought; the Witness Protection program had its hands full with people who truly needed protection…like her. It wasn't a child-shuttling service.

"So what happens to him?"

"Well," she said unhappily, "tonight he's going to go to this group home." _Don's definitely not going to be happy with this._ Megan braced herself for the blow-up. Sure enough, it came.

"Oh, come on, you've got to be kidding me. That's a nightmare. You know what those places are like."

"I know," Megan couldn't help but reveal her frustration. _Daniel doesn't need to be thrown into more chaos._ "But I called WITSEC and they won't put a minor into custody without a court order. And you know what? It's really not any better than a group home is anyway." She pushed away memories of being hustled into an unmarked vehicle and completely cut off from everyone she cared about. _Vanished, just like that, like I never existed._

"I know," his voice contained a slight apology for his frustration. "But I just don't want him twisted around till any chance we have of getting what he knows is gone."

"Well I don't like this at all. But you and I aren't set up to take care of a kid." She looked at Daniel through the glass wall. _Though God knows I wish I could be. But Ian would throw a fit_. "What are we supposed to do?"

"I have an idea," he said quietly, standing up. She looked at Don, asking him to elaborate, but their partnership hadn't progressed yet to the level of silent communication. He abruptly left the room, pulling out his cell phone as he did so. Megan sighed heavily, her eyes resting on Daniel again, wishing that she could take away some of his pain.

Her maternal instincts were screaming for her to take the boy in her arms until he released the grief he was holding in. He needed to cry, to scream for the one woman who was the most important to him in his young life. There was a lot of pain in the world and she saw a lot of it, but she was perversely glad that it hadn't deadened her emotionally. She swallowed past the lump in her throat and gave herself a mental shake, reminding herself to get back to work. Maybe her goal would absorb her enough for her to forget.

* * *

At the end of the day, she braced herself emotionally and walked over to where Daniel had sat for the past few hours. He was hugging his backpack as if it was his lifeline in a sea of chaos. 

"Daniel…it's almost time to go," she told him. Child Services had called a few minutes earlier, telling her that they would be there in half an hour to pick him up.

"Where am I going to go?" he asked in a quiet, vulnerable voice.

Megan swallowed hard. The very thought of telling the grieving boy that he was being sent to sleep with other orphans on the same day his mother died was choking her. A familiar presence appeared behind her. She didn't have to turn around to know who it was.

"Hey, Daniel," Don's voice was gentle. "You're coming with me." Megan couldn't help the startled expression on her face. Don glanced at her; he silently signaled he would explain later. "Is that all right with you, partner?" The child looked at Don and, after a second, nodded. The male agent smiled slightly, "Okay, hang in there for a few more minutes, all right?" He received another mute nod in return before she tugged him away from where Daniel was sitting.

"You're _what_?" she asked quietly, unable to keep the shock out of her voice. In a way, she knew she was jealous that she couldn't take in Daniel herself, but reasonably she couldn't. If she did and then murderers came to get rid of their witness, they wouldn't hesitate to kill her too. Even with Ian's presence, neither she nor the boy would be completely safe. Megan knew that she was too valuable to Terry's case to be put at more risk than she already was.

"I'm talking him to Charlie's place."

"Your brother and father?" she repeated, still trying to come to terms with the situation.

"I know, I know it's not ideal, but—"

"Not id — Do they know about this?"

"Do you want to put him in a group home?" he asked in reply. She sighed and gave up, "No."

"Any advice?" She thought for a few seconds, formulating an answer that combined both training and painful personal experience.

"Don't push him too far," she said finally, recalling what Fred and Sophia had done for her. "Comfortable, quiet surroundings might help get him to talk. He'll need company tonight; even if it's just having someone sitting with him. If he wants to talk, just listen. He seems rather attached to you; it'd probably best if you don't break that attachment, not yet at least. His world's been turned upside down once today. He needs a little stability right now."

"All right. Thanks Megan."

"My pleasure," she answered quietly.

* * *

She opened the door to her apartment with a sigh. Megan didn't feel like checking in; besides, he probably saw her as she came in. It wasn't like she climbed in through a window or something to get into her home. She dropped her keys, purse and badge on the hallway table, pausing to hang up her jacket before entering the kitchen. _Dang it, _she thought, _I completely forgot about the groceries._ With a sigh as she made a mental note to take care of it first thing the next morning, she unclipped her gun and put it on the kitchen countertop, making sure the safety was on. She poured herself a glass of water, the sound of the liquid splashing and gurgling into the glass soothing her slightly. The phone rang, breaking the silence. Even now, she still flinched at the sudden sound. She walked over to pick it up. 

"Everything okay?" asked Ian.

"Aren't I supposed to be the one who calls you?" she asked, putting amusement that she didn't feel in her voice. "Not the other way around?"

"Does it matter?"

"I'm fine."

"I did the shopping today. So you can do it next time."

"Thanks."

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked.

"No…I'm going to some sleep."

"All right then," he said, knowing just as well as she did that she would probably spend the majority of the next few hours of darkness tossing and turning in her bed, "just call if you need anything."

"Goodnight, Ian."

"Night Megan." She waited until he hung up and then she sighed as she replaced the phone back in its cradle. The case promised to be long and tough on her, simply because there was a child involved and she knew what it was like to grieve. Hopefully, she could sleep tonight.

_

* * *

She sat upright in her bed, every sense on heightened alert, her body quivering from the tension. It was still in the room, and quiet in the hallway beyond it. There was someone else in her apartment, she knew it. She silently shifted her weight, half rolling, reaching across the bed for her emergency beeper. One push of the panic button, and every police officer and special agent from San Diego to San Francisco would be alerted. Her neighbor would be at her side in seconds, gun drawn. When it came to protecting her, she knew that Ian would shoot first, ask questions later. _

_Shit, she thought her hand hitting air. Where the fucking hell was it? She had made sure it was within reach before she went to bed, hadn't she? Damn it! She forced herself to take a slow, deep breath before she slowly moved her hand over the surface of the table, searching for the device._

"_Looking for this?" a sudden male voice asked, chilling her to the bone. She jerked herself around to face the doorway, where a man stood in the shadows. Even so, she could see the small beeper he held out in front of him, taunting her. "Tsk, tsk, Agent Reeves," he chided, mock disappoint in his voice. "An FBI agent should never be caught off guard, should they?"_

"_Who are you?" she demanded, willing her voice to remain steady, trying to buy time as she slid her right hand behind her, under her pillow._

"_You know who I am, Agent Reeves…or should I say Agent Elliot?" She could hear amusement in the man's voice._

"_What are you talking about?" she asked, trying to play up the role of a confused, helpless woman while her mind was in full panic mode. How the hell did he find her? Sophia promised her that she would be safe in Los Angeles! Her heart pounded in her chest and she was sure any second now she would start screaming uncontrollably._

_The man laughed. He actually laughed at her. "You always were such a joker, Elliot." Her hand hit cool metal and her heart leapt with hope. She shifted her weight on the bed, a casual movement. Her fingers wrapped around the patterned grip. Now she had to wait for the right moment. "It's a pity. I liked you, you know. But you had to go and poke your nose where it never belonged."_

"_I don't know what you're talking about," she said loudly. Maybe the walls of her apartment were thin enough. Maybe Ian could hear their conversation and was on his way to help her. Maybe, maybe, maybe…_

"_Keep on denying it all you want Elliot, I know what you saw me do to Alexis. But I've wasted enough time." The man swung his other hand up from his side. The streetlight reflected off the cold metal barrel as he aimed. Knowing it was now or never, she flung herself off the far side of her bed, seeking cover. But it was too little, too late._

* * *

With a soft scream, Megan jerked and fell to the floor in a tangle of sheets. Her breathing was harsh and, for a spilt second, she remained caught in her nightmare. She half-expected her killer to step around her bed to finish her off. But seconds passed, and no one appeared. Her body trembling with relief, she stayed sprawled on the floor, immobile, her heart still pounding wildly in her chest. Slowly she became aware of her bones, protesting the rough impact of falling off her bed, and the sheets wrapped tightly around her body. But she couldn't bring herself to care. She was tired of being scared, of being alone, of being afraid that one night her nightmares would come true and that she would die, helpless. 

Tears gathered in her eyes, and soon her harsh breaths had turned into quiet sobs. She was sick of not being able to see her family, to lie every day, to pretend to be someone she wasn't. She was angry that she had been ripped away from everything she had ever known and told that she probably could never go back.

She let out another soft cry when someone's arms gently picked her up from the floor and she lashed out, her training kicking in. The person fell back with a muffled oath and dropped her. Ignoring her jarred bones, Megan scrambled for her weapon and, safety off, aimed it at her intruder. A second later, she lowered her gun, securing it again and placing it on the bed.

"What are you doing here, Ian?" she demanded quietly, feeling the adrenaline already draining from her system.

"My job," he replied dryly. "You screamed; I was concerned."

"I'm fine," she mumbled, trying to untangle herself from her sheets and get back on top of the mattress. She didn't bother to swat away the chaste, helpful hand that Ian lent to that task.

"Uh-huh." She heard the skepticism, and worry, in his voice. "Megan…"

"I'm fine," she repeated, her voice steady. She smoothed out a few wrinkles in her blankets. He touched her arm gently, "You've been through a lot these past few weeks. A little stress isn't unexpected in your situation."

"I don't want to talk about this, Ian. All I want is to sleep." To emphasize her point, she climbed back into bed, but not before replacing her gun under the spare pillow and checking that her beeper was on the nightstand.

"And you haven't been sleeping," he sighed and sat down, uninvited, on her bed. She childishly turned her back to him. "I might be here for your protection, Megan, but I'm also here if you want to talk about anything. This is going to be long-term, and there is going to be a lot of personal fall-out for you. I might not be a licensed psychologist, but I do know how to listen, all right?" She didn't answer, and truth be told, she didn't think he expected one from her. Megan felt his hand tap her shoulder in a silent goodnight as he rose from the mattress.

"I'll talk to my superiors tomorrow about installing a door between the units," Ian said quietly. "It took me too long to get to you tonight." With that, she heard him leave her apartment to return to his own bed and resume his interrupted sleep. Part of her fiercely resented the idea that she was emotionally weak, that she couldn't deal with all the sudden changes in her life; the other part of her knew better. She had to tell someone, trust someone with her secret. But who?

She hadn't made many non-job-related friends since her abrupt move to LA. She didn't have the time, or if she really wanted to be honest, she didn't have the heart to take the risk. If something happened and she had to be relocated, civilian friends would ask too many questions. On the other hand, coworkers wouldn't. They knew that agents transferred every few years for a variety of reasons. Megan could cite 'personal matters' for her disappearance from the LA office and they would accept it. As long as she was consistent with them, there would be no reason for them to question her integrity.

She had long ago discovered that part of being a law enforcer was the ability to trust your teammates to watch your back and have them entrust their lives to your hands. If a partnership couldn't establish that basic bond, it was doomed for failure: either the two spilt up or one of them was killed. She knew she was having problems on that front. It wasn't that she didn't trust Don, Colby and David; it was more like she was afraid to trust them. She had been betrayed before by a close colleague, a friend. What was to say that it wouldn't happen again?

She sighed and turned onto her back, looking up at the ceiling. Logically, she knew that there was nothing for her to fear from the three men. The NSA had done deep background checks on all of them and found no red flags of any sort. Merrick had praised Don as one of his best team leaders, an assessment that she agreed with. David was quiet, but quickly gaining confidence as he verbally sparred with Colby. The ex-CID officer acted like a player and mercilessly teased her (and she yanked his chain right back), but she knew that he had some memories from Afghanistan that still haunted him. Megan closed her eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. All three men, even in the short time she had known them and without knowing her real past, were protective of her, watching her back in the field, pulling her out when her profiles got her in a little too deep into people's minds. They would be willing to die for her and she was finding herself willing to do the same for them.

The four of them were gradually getting closer, and she knew her heart was desperately trying to stop that process, to avoid getting hurt again. _Sometimes, it sucks to be a behaviorist._ Who out of the three to tell the truth, if at all? Who? And when? She rolled onto her stomach and drove a fist into her pillow. Then she sighed into the soft fluffy cotton; she was exhausted and she had mentally run through the same questions every night for the past six months. With an effort of will, she shoved the issues to the back of her mind and, letting fatigue take over, closed her eyes. It was some time in the early morning before she slipped into sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Secrets in the Sun

Author: Dragon's Daughter 1980

Spoilers: Seasons 1-3

Disclaimer: CBS has ownership over Numb3rs. That being said, I'm just borrowing the cast for my own enjoyment and I promise to return all characters unharmed.

Author's Note: Just a late holiday gift for those of you still out there reading this story. Thank you, and Happy New Year!

_

* * *

Six months earlier…_

_March 22, 2005_

Miami, Florida

Megan didn't know how the hours passed from dusk till dawn. One moment she had been at the beachside park — or had she even made it there? She wasn't sure. She remembered calmly locking her door and… and then what? She was back at home, crumpled in front of the bathroom sink, sobbing.

Maybe she didn't make it to the park; maybe she had. Where did all the blood come from? Surely there couldn't have been that much. She didn't know if she slept at all; there were blank spots in her memory, maybe she had dozed off. Maybe not. _Blunt affect._ She remember things, knew there were others she was pushing away. Her hands had been scrubbed with soap, over and over again until they were raw and spotless. _All the perfumes of Arabia…but how could I have known?_

Her blouse, with its bloodstain cuffs, was wrapped in clean plastic bags, sealed with packing tape, and hidden in a suitcase buried deep in the back of her closet. Her pants had met the same fate. She wasn't sure why she had saved her clothes. _The truth will set you free._ Maybe it was her training that screamed at her to preserve the evidence, all the more to prove that she wasn't lying and to nail Alexis' murderer to the wall.

_Today doesn't feel real. Last night doesn't feel real._ But she certainly didn't know how she went from her apartment to the office. One moment she had been tying her hair back from her haggard, tearstained face in front of her bathroom mirror and the next, she was staring at her morning memo while seated at her desk.

A vague part of her wondered if she was in shock, but most of her was numb and unthinking. All she knew was at that moment she was in the break room with her partner Brian, pouring their morning coffee. After his usual morning greeting, he had given her a worried look and asked her if she had slept the night before. That had nearly elicited a hysterical bout of laughter from Megan. _Oh, if only you knew, Brian, how long I sat there, couldn't think, couldn't move, couldn't believe it._ But she had quickly got herself under control and lied. He had shaken his head then and grabbed both of their coffee mugs, saying that she looked like she could use some caffeine.

FBI Special Agent Stephan Cullen walked into the room. Their colleague was a tall, handsome man with brown hair in his late-thirties who oozed charm and sophistication. He was a bit of a ladies' man and would have had more than his share of harassment complaints in his personnel file if he wasn't so charismatic. He had dated several of the women in the Miami office, flirted with all. It would be a slight stretch to say the two of them were friends; they were civil with each other, but didn't socialize outside of the office. Brian had made it very clear early on that he wouldn't tolerate Stephan hitting on his cousin. It was something that had irritated Megan at the beginning of their partnership since she had taken it as a sign that he thought her incapable of taking care of herself, but she gradually learned that Brian had done so because she was family and he didn't want any more cares on her plate than necessary.

"Where's Alexis?" Stephan asked no one in particular, checking his watch, "She's late. I really hope we won't have to start the morning briefing without her." Megan felt like a bucket of ice had been dumped over her.

"Hey, you okay?" asked Brian, noticing his partner's suddenly pale face. She jerked herself back to reality.

"Yeah, just tired," she lied. _Tell him Megan! He's family and your partner for goodness' sake! Tell him! You can trust him._ Another part of her screamed, _Not_ _here and not now. Who knows how many friends he has? If the wrong person hears you, you'll be the next body the local PD finds._ Brian peered at her suspiciously, but apparently chose not to press. Instead, he poured a cup of coffee for her, picked up his own and turned around to walk back to their desks when he stopped.

"Hey, DuBlanc's here," he said. Megan immediately turned around. Her stomach clenched in guilt; she knew why their SAC was here. _They found her. Alexis, I'm sorry I left you, Alexis. Why didn't I make a call? How long did take for someone to find you? I shouldn't have left you alone. I should have called the police. I'm sorry…_ It didn't take much of her emotional control not to break down and cry; terror sank its paralyzing claws into her as another man came to the coffeemaker, which she was standing next to. Megan started to tremble slightly. Her partner, still by her side, put an unobtrusive arm under her elbow and tugged her out of their colleague's way. The FBI badge clipped to his waist gleamed gold in the early morning sunlight.

"Sorry," said Brian with a smile at Horace Demana, "she apparently hasn't gotten her first cup of coffee this morning."

Horace laughed, "Same here. Doesn't really feel like I'm alive till that first cup." Megan felt nauseous, but pushed down her bile as best as she could. _Thank God Brian's covering for me, even though he doesn't know he's doing it._

"Everyone, I'd like your attention please," DuBlanc's expression was grave. He waited until silence descended on the room and he had everyone's attention. "I am sorry to announce that the Miami-Dade PD found Agent Andres' body in Coconut Grove Park this morning."

A shocked murmur swept through the room; Alexis had been friendly with all her colleagues on the task force. Some looked around, searching for Alexis' boss, DEA Agent Greg Tang, wanting to press him for answers, but he was nowhere to be seen. The SAC waited until people's attention returned to him for information.

"She was apparently shot and then mugged. It has been decided that the Miami-Dade Police will handle this case." He held up a hand to head off the protests, "I know that she's a federal agent and that we, by all rights, have jurisdiction. But from all current evidence, this was a mugging gone wrong. We need to focus our energy and resources on what she would have wanted: on this case. Now the MDPD has reassured me that if her death shows the slightest relevance to the cartels, it will be turned over to us. I promise that as soon as I know any new developments, you will be informed. Now, please, let's get back to work."

The agents grumbled about the loss of the jurisdiction war between the DEA, FBI, and the MDPD, but did as their boss asked them to and got back to their caseloads. Megan picked up her cup and numbly walked away from the coffeemaker.

* * *

She didn't know how, but she managed to force herself to concentrate on the IRS tax filings in front of her. She was supposed to be finding a link between the local cartel head and his suspected dummy import companies. Brian, who had been helping her with this task, had disappeared a few minutes ago to get her a refill on her coffee. She glanced around the office. _Where is he anyway? It doesn't take that long to get two cups of coffee._ She spotted him in the lounge area, standing next to the coffeemaker. She turned to look back down at the forms and then did a sharp double-take, her heart skipping a painful beat. _Oh God, please, no…_ Her partner was grinning at something Alexis' murderer had said to him. Whatever his reply was caused the other man to chuckle.

Her mind went into panic mode for a brief moment before she forced herself to think logically. Brian was her partner, her friend, her second cousin for goodness sake. He had run interference for her against Stephan without her even asking. He cared about her. He wouldn't be planning to kill her. He couldn't. They had been partners and friends for years; they shared relatives. It wasn't possible.

The coldly logical part of her mind spoke softly, her thoughts chilling her. If Brian was in cahoots with Alexis' killer, they wouldn't do anything to her in the middle of the field office — too risky. They would have to wait until tonight, when she got off of work.

She turned back to the stack of filings on her desk, forcing herself to take slow, deep breaths. As long as she kept her emotions together and her thoughts clear, she would have a better chance of long-term survival. She was safe for now, but she needed to tell someone what she saw before she left the building; she needed to get to her mentor or the SAC without arousing anyone's suspicion.

"Megan."

She involuntarily jerked and looked into her partner's concerned brown eyes. She could tell from the tone of his voice that it wasn't the first time he had called her name. His hand rested loosely on her shoulder, but it felt like a hundred-pound weight to her.

"Megan," he said quietly, "let's take a break for a moment, okay?"

"Sure," she said as normally as she could, following him into one of the empty briefing rooms. He gestured for her to take a seat while he closed the glass door behind him. Brian took the seat next to her and studied her face for a long moment.

"Megan, you haven't been yourself today," he said softly. "What's wrong?"

"It's Alexis." She turned away from him, her body language signaling she didn't want to talk. It didn't escape his notice.

"It's more than that," he pressed gently. "I can tell you know; it's more than just Alexis."

"No it isn't."

"You're not under interrogation here. I'm just worried about you."

"I know that."

There was silence, and she heard someone say slowly, "I — I know who…"

"Know what?"

"I can't tell you," she whispered, panicked, half-rising from her seat.

"Whoa, whoa," her partner said, catching her hands and forcing her to stay sitting in next to him, "Calm down, Meg. What do you mean you can't tell me?" In his worry and her fear, neither of them noticed that he had slipped into using her childhood nickname. She had hated it in school, but he always called her 'Meg' when they were out in the field or off-duty.

"I—" Words died on her lips. _I don't know if I can trust you. I don't know._

"Meg, what's wrong?" asked Brian again, this time with real fear in his eyes and concern in his voice. "Please, tell me what's wrong." _He's your partner, he's your family; if you can't trust him, who can you trust? Take a leap of faith, Megan. Take it._

Her lips moved soundlessly several times before she whispered in a harsh, strangled voice, "Murdered. She was murdered."

"Mur—you mean Alexis?"

She nodded.

"Yeah," he sighed, pulling her close to rest her head against his shoulder, his hand rubbing her arm in a gesture meant to be comforting, "I hope Caine catches the bastard that did this. She didn't deserve to die. Makes you think about what we do." Megan shook her head frantically and pulled away from him in a panic. _He doesn't get it._

"No, not, that's not — it wasn't a mugging…" A tidal wave of relief and terror swept over her. _There, I've said it. What ever happens now…._

"What are you talking about?" Confusion flooded his expression. _Oh God, what if he's in on it? He was talking — stop it Megan, he wouldn't do that. Even if he was, he couldn't hurt you. He loves you, remember? You're cousins? Friends? But Horace was a friend, I trusted him and he…_

"Hey, Megan, you okay?" asked a new voice suddenly, sending Megan's heart rate through the roof. Standing in the doorway, her mentor Fred Bennett looked at her with concern. "You don't look well, and don't tell me it's just insomnia."

"No, it isn't," intervened Brian before she could make up a decent lie. "She's not talking sense…." Fred was frowning as he studied her for a long moment. He didn't take his eyes off of her when he finally spoke, "Brian, let me handle this, okay?" Her partner looked at her and then at Fred and back again.

"Sure," Brian said reluctantly. He squeezed her arm in comfort before he stood and left them alone in the conference room, quietly shutting the door behind him. Megan saw him wave off Stephan's concern and return to his desk.

Her mentor took Brian's seat and waited. But she found her mouth dry, words wouldn't come. The air was smothering her; she couldn't think. Her emotions were crashing at her professional barriers again and again and again, like waves pounding relentlessly against the shore until the cliff face gave way and plunged into the ocean. But she couldn't afford that, so she threw all her willpower into shoring up her walls between professional and personal, between what she knew and what she _knew_. She could not afford to lose her ability to bluff now, too much was at stake. This was more than just closing a case; this was about her own life, Alexis' life, the lives of her coworkers and the Bureau's integrity. But she wanted, no needed, to tell someone; to have someone share the burden of knowledge with her, to help her sort everything out and do what was right.

She became aware that Fred had been watching her the whole time. He had known her since the day she arrived in Miami, her friend and mentor from the beginning. He was like a father to her and she knew he knew how to read her unspoken emotions. Judging from the slight worry lines that creased his forehead, whatever he had picked up from the mess of tangled feelings inside of her was enough to seriously trouble him.

"Megan," he finally said, getting to his feet, "let's go up to the roof." Taking her elbow in a gentle grip, he opened the door and guided her to the elevator. The staircase climb onto the top of the building was made in silence, broken only by their footsteps and the rooftop access door being pushed open. They made their way to the railing and stood there, letting a light ocean breeze cool them from the heat of the morning sun.

"What's wrong?" he asked simply, looking out at the sweeping panoramic view of the Florida coastline. He leaned against the railing, his posture relaxed. She slumped; the barrier being the only thing that was holding her up.

_What's wrong? What's wrong?_ she thought to herself, torn between sobbing with grief and laughing with terror. _What's wrong is I saw a friend being murdered. What's wrong is that she was murdered by our coworker. What's wrong is that I can't trust anyone and I'm so afraid that I'm going to die before the sun sets today._

He looked sharply at her, sheer disbelief and concern on his face and she realized that she had spoken aloud.

"Who?" he asked softly, as if anyone else could overhear them on the deserted rooftop. She looked away from him, unable to face the condemnation she feared in his eyes when she told him that she had let Alexis go to her death and done nothing about it.

"Horace," she breathed so softly that even she wasn't sure that she had spoken aloud, "Horace Demana." She felt her mentor's body stiffen next to her, but his voice was calm and soothing when he spoke to her, as if she was a spooked mare who would shield and bolt at the slightest provocation.

"Tell me what happened after you left work yesterday," he ordered softly.

"I told Brian good night," she said, her voice dazed as her mind replayed the night's events. "Drove home, grabbed a little dinner, then I went out for a quick walk. Coconut Grove."

With gentle questions, Fred managed to coax her eyewitness account out of her until they reached the part about the morning briefing. Megan broke down then, unable to hold back the terror of standing next to a traitor who had killed in cold blood. With a soft, yet heavy, sigh, he pulled her into a chaste embrace, holding her as the events of the previous night hit home for the first time. She sobbed in his arms, feeling like the terrified, untried agent she once was after her first fatal shooting. He said nothing while she cried, understanding her need for release, for absolution of a situation she could not have prevented. Seagulls soared around them, their harsh calls blending into her tears and grasping breaths.

When she managed to take in a near normal lungful of air, he reached into his pocket with one hand for his ever present handkerchief. Usually he offered it to shaken witnesses or bereaved family members; Meagan had never dreamed of a day that he would be offering it to her.

"Now what?" she asked hoarsely, trying to stop herself from gasping in air. He offered her the piece of cloth, his forehead furrowed in thought. She accepted it with a shaky smile.

"Now, we have to protect you," he said quietly.

She briefly paused in wiping away her tears, "How?"

"I'm going to need you to act like everything's okay for a little while longer. I'm going to DuBlanc. You have to trust me," he looked her in the eye. "It might take a while, but you have to trust me that I will get you somewhere safe. I promise." She nodded.

"I trust you."


End file.
